


Coffee's for Closers

by teenacer



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Deaf Clint Barton, I love Natasha, Its implied, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Sam Wilson, War Veteran Steve Rogers, if anything else comes up lol, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-25 19:49:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16204472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenacer/pseuds/teenacer
Summary: Bucky is a stickler for routines, so when a blonde guy with a golden retriever comes barreling into his life, he doesn't know what to do.(based off of the “you and your friend always sit at the table closeby and gossip in [insert language here], which happens to be a language i’m currently learning. i’ve been eavesdropping to try and improve and oh my god are you actually talking about how hot i am???” au prompt)next update: oct 26th, 2016





	1. Chapter 1

 

The rhythm and repetition of routines was something Bucky fell into well. He missed the comfort of these cycles to such an extent after high school that he fell into the Marines, which provided a strenuous enough series to follow until he got discharged. Now, he finds his daily patterns through the routine of work, physical therapy, college, and most importantly, the routine of paychecks. 

Having too many options always teetered on the side of overwhelment for Bucky. To him, routines gave him a small freedom- he chose to follow the beaten path, even as others strayed from it. 

Bucky leans his head to each side, popping his neck as he slid his paper into the punch card machine. It stamped the timecard unceremoniously at 7 a.m. (on the second, as it did every time Bucky was unfortunate to work the morning shift). He returned it to the stack. 

Bucky could smell the rich scent of brewing coffee before he stepped into the front of the store. He surveyed the room to find Sam, the other barista, taking chairs off tables and Steve, the shift supervisor, fiddling with the cash register. Sam barely registered Bucky’s arrival. Sam, or “Falcon” as he was dubbed, served a tour before Steve and Bucky. His nickname was earned by him always being one step ahead of others; Bucky knew Sam saw him enter. Steve, on the other hand, turned at the noise of heavy footsteps and flashed Bucky one of his overly charismatic grins. 

“Morning Buck, I was worried you weren’t gonna wake up at all,” Steve chirped. Bucky nodded in response and went to wash his hands, looking over his shoulder to watch Steve smack the side of the register. 

Finally, a ding echoed, accompanied with a sigh of relief from Steve. Sam and Bucky locked eyes to smirk at each other. Even if he found Sam unbearable at best, there was one thing the two could join forces for: poking fun at Steve; even if he was Sam’s best friend and Bucky’s roommate.  

“Well, I’m off to file the budgeting expenses for this quarter. Please don’t kill each other while I’m gone. Sam, shout into the back if backup is needed,” Steve had moved from the register to the doorframe connecting the front and back sections of the shop, nodding at them both before heading back.

“Wait, why does Sam get to shout for backup,” Bucky whined as he finally processed Steve’s words. Sam flipped the sign on the door before turning back to Bucky.

“Sam gets to shout for backup because you shout like you’re still serving,” Sam quipped, pushing Bucky on his right shoulder. Bucky pushed back with his left hand.

“I’m sorry, did you even go overseas? I don’t remember you over there.” 

“Not fair, you don’t get to use your super soldier arm against me, man,” Sam exclaimed, dramatically rubbing his shoulder.

Bucky’s mind sparked with panic. Hearing people in pain took him back to his first week of physical therapy, when he was still getting used to the shiny prosthetic that went from his left shoulder down. He remembered the jackass of a co-worker he was talking to and the panic disappeared. He twisted his mouth to spit out some sort of comeback, but was stopped in his tracks but the front door swinging open, the bell above it clacking. 

Four people slugged in, all with backpacks and tired eyes. Bucky was almost certain they all went to the same college as him. One of the girls striked a resemblance to the one who he sat behind of in English, but Bucky never had talked to her before. They were becoming regulars as college courses swung into motion, but they were nice enough, so Bucky didn’t mind.

Bucky turned to make their drinks as they ordered them with Sam. He hated taking orders- far too many uncertainties for his liking. Talking to strangers was a lost art on him, and he relied on Steve and Sam most of the time for idle chat with customers. Taking drinks, on the other hand, was a routine he could get lost in. Sam preferred to take orders anyways, so the two balanced each other out. 

Bucky felt himself get lost in his thoughts, allowing himself deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole of his conscious, until he hit the bottom. It was what he deemed “the fog”, a gaseous haze of regret that clouded over him at all times. Despite Bucky constantly trying to shake it off since it formed after being discharged, it never fully left. He didn’t like to think about that often. He often didn’t allow himself to, especially when there were soldiers worse off than him. He could handle his own demons. 

That fact didn’t make anything easier for him, though. His arm looked dull in the ambient, standard coffee shop lighting. A quick glance and a stranger could perceive it as a long sleeve shirt. Bucky still grimaced. He knew he should’ve worn his actual long sleeve work shirt today. 

He placed all four drinks onto a tray and carried them over to the college students, smiling wordlessly as they chorused their thank yous. One of them, a boy nose deep in a physics textbook, peeked his head out and exclaimed, “Thank you, Mr. Barnes!” 

Which, yeah,  _ that _ made him feel old. He made eye contact with the boy (Peter? Pete? He spoke too fast for Bucky to catch his name) and nodded at him, a wordless  _ you’re welcome _ . Sam was staring at him whenever Bucky got back to the other side of the counter.

“Everything alright? And don’t shit me, you got that look in your eye,” Sam narrowed his eyes as he spoke.

“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking,” Bucky stated. The morning rush was at its peak now; He needed to get out of his head. 

“You? Thinking? Are you sick or something?” Sam joked, bumping their shoulders together. The fog eased up around Bucky, and he gave Sam a genuine smile. He grabbed more drinks and headed back out.

The steady flow of customers kept the two busy through the morning. It wasn’t until ten that the rush had slowed down. The shop was moderately full for a Wednesday morning, filled with the chatter of people quietly talking and the radio playing some 40s song in the background. The four college kids were still there, although seemed to have ditched their books to chat with one another instead, as well as a few businessmen and some elderly folks. 

Slow business didn’t mean the two men could slack off. There were messy tables and restocking that needed to be done before the next rush. Bucky pumped his metal fist into the air when the flipped coin revealed that he didn’t have to venture out to wipe down tables. Sam scowled and grabbed the spray bottle, draping a towel over his shoulder wordlessly and left their sanctuary. Bucky, on the other hand, began to clean behind the counter. 

The front door bell clacked. Bucky looked up from where he was refilling the coffee grinder to see a pair of the  _ most _ attractive people he had ever seen. He had to stop himself from doing a double take. It wasn’t fair, Bucky thought, that these people decided to exist whenever Bucky was already confused on his sexuality. 

The man and woman approached the counter, followed by a golden retriever on the end of a leash held by the man. Sam shot him a “Do-I-Need-To-Intervene-I-Know-You-Hate -Talking-To-Customers” look from across the shop. Bucky hesitated. It was as good a chance as any for Bucky to begin talking to people outside his limited circle. If he didn’t, Bucky already knew he would be kicking himself for weeks. He shook his head no, and Sam continued to clean the front. 

He made eye contact with the woman, who was dressed head to toe in black and had hair as red as Ariel’s. The man next to her, slightly taller but with sandy blonde hair sticking in all directions, focused in on her too.

“G’Morning,” Bucky’s lips turned into what he hope came off as a pleasant expression, “What can I get for you two?” 

The redhead was the one who responded, saying, “One Medium Iced Americano and two large black coffees.”

Bucky nodded, scribbling their order down. He typed them into the cash register, and prayed he was doing it all correctly. He really should’ve paid attention during training. His face began to heaten, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the attention or the worry. 

“Anything else?”

The redhead began to shake her head, curls bouncing, but was cut off from a jab to the ribs by the blonde. She turned to him sharply, raising an eyebrow. The blonde made a ‘W’ with his right hand and tapped his mouth twice, which turned into a thin line.

Bucky’s eyes widened. He knew sign when he saw it, he had to thank his American Sign Language professor for engraving the motions into his mind. Sometimes the words were lost on him, but the sign for water? That was first day stuff. 

But Bucky was an anxious guy, so he waited for the redhead to speak instead of opening his big mouth. 

“And a small bowl of water, for the dog, if you don’t mind.” Bucky nodded again, mentally celebrating his correct guess. The day was only getting better and better-

And then Bucky blanked again. He really needed to pay more attention to Sam whenever he took orders. 

“Yeah. You, uh, guys can sit wherever, I’ll come to bring it out when it’s done,” Bucky stammered. The couple (they weren’t holding hands but Bucky assumed) didn’t seem to mind. The blonde turned to Bucky for the first time, flashing one of the dorkiest grins Bucky thinks he’s ever seen. Which, whenever you live with Steve Rogers, one of the most smiley people in existence, was an achievement. 

Bucky gave a tiny grin of his own. He turned to begin making their drinks. His stomach flipped. 

_ Dammit. _

The two choose a table relatively close to the counter, sitting opposite of each other while the dog sat contently at the blonde’s feet. 

Bucky heard someone shout from near the front of the store, and he turned around to see who was making the commotion. The four students had already packed up their belongings, the girl holding open the door. Peeta (Pietro?) was still inside, hands clasped like a cone around his mouth and Bucky heard him repeat the phrase. 

“Bye Mr. Barnes!” He turned to where Sam was finishing cleaning the last table. 

“Bye Mr. Wilson!” 

Sam quietly said goodbye back, and Bucky offered a wave. He hunched back into making the order that he barely heard Sam return to the counter. He jumped Bucky out of his thoughts. 

“Never seen you talk to strangers for that long before, I think it’s a new record.” 

Bucky scoffed at his comment. Sam continued, “Seriously, the last time was, what, two months ago? You mistook that customer for Steve.” 

“In my defense, he was the same height! Besides, all blondes look the same,” Bucky rambled, placing the ceramic bowl in the sink and turning on the tap. 

“Clearly not that one, though,” Sam nodded his head in the direction of the two customers, who were engrossed in a nonverbal conversation. Bucky turned the tap off and stared into the water for a moment, a brief panic passing through him.  _ Was he that obvious? Did the blonde see what Sam clearly thought he did?  _

Bucky was screwed.  

Sam turned to see Bucky frozen and backtracked, not knowing what he said to cause his friend to clam up. “I just meant he’s scrawnier than Steve. Look at him.” 

Bucky snorted a laugh, breaking out of his trance. He carried the bowl where the other drinks sat on a tray and joked, “Not his fault Steve is G.I. Joe.” 

Sam grinned at the comment and Bucky grabbed the tray, heading over to the table. They were still deep in conversation, but Bucky’s mind was too distracted to decipher what the two were saying. He noticed the redhead smirk, though, and sign something to the blonde, who signed back quickly. 

In that moment, Bucky decided he really needed to get better at reading sign. He sat the tray down in the middle of the table and smiled. The redhead pursed her lips, catching Bucky’s eye as they twisted into a sinister smile. She spoke out loud, 

“Thank you, Barney.” 

Shit. She must’ve heard the kid shout back at him. 

“It’s Bucky. Bucky Barnes.” He coughed, “And no problem.” 

He nodded, mostly to himself, and glanced at the blonde. A pang of regret coursed through Bucky that since he was turned to the redhead, the blonde probably didn’t catch his name. Bucky took a slow step back, mindful to not step on the dog, before heading back to the safety of the counter. Sam’s eyes quickly averted back to the espresso machine he was knuckle-deep in. Bucky pushed Sam’s shoulder with his left arm, purposely, and headed towards the sink to wash his hands. 

“Nothing happened,” Bucky muttered over his shoulder. It wasn’t until the tap was off and Bucky was drying his hands whenever Sam grunted, amusement filling his voice as he replied: 

“They’re talking about you. I don’t think nothing happened, Barnes.” 

Bucky’s eyes shot over the the table where, sure enough, the redhead kept pointing over to the counter where Sam and him were at. She moved in languid movements, a relaxed pace that even Bucky could understand if he paid attention. The blonde was the opposite: he signed in broad, frantic strokes, a pace so fast Bucky couldn’t decipher a single word. He never seemed to tire though while moving, his toned arms (which Bucky weren’t looking at, that’s weird, nope) moving with ease. Sam added, 

“At least, I assume they are. I can’t read sign language for shit, but the lady keeps pointing at you.” 

Bucky began to restock the front area. He kept an eye on the redhead as she was signing to the blonde, catching her mid-sentence: 

_...go say hi, introduce yourself. He’s your type.  _

She pointed to the counter to sign “he”, and Bucky followed her finger to where Sam was refilling the ice bin. His stomach dropped, but he wasn’t shocked: Sam was pure muscle, like Steve, and had a hairline as sharp as his cheekbones. If he wasn’t an entire pain in the ass, Bucky could see how someone would find Sam attractive. 

Besides, Sam needed to get out there after things with Riley ended. If Bucky couldn’t have one of the most attractive men he’s ever met, it didn’t mean Sam couldn’t. He wiped down the countertop and watched as the redhead signed back to the man's comment. 

_ Stop being a dumbass, go hand him a note. I will go flirt with him for you if I have to. Bring your fucking hearing aids next time _ .

The woman pointed over to the counter again when she signed “him”. The blonde’s eyes moved with the redheads hands this time and Bucky found them staring eye to eye.  _ Awkward.  _ The blonde’s face heated and he signed somehow faster than the speed of light, breaking the eye contact almost as fast as it was formed. 

_ Great _ , Bucky thought. He didn’t need to understand the panicked signs to catch the gist of the situation: Bucky fucked up. The accidental eye contact meant the blonde would never ask Sam out which meant Sam would never be able to get over Riley which meant Bucky essentially ruined Sam’s only chance at happiness. 

Maybe he was being slightly overzealous, but it felt justified in the moment. Bucky tried to catch what he could of the blonde’s signs:

_ Fuck me … never come back … always do this. _

The redhead didn’t bother looking over at Bucky and signed: 

_ Stop being dramatic. He can’t understand us. _

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip to suppress the grin that threatened to grow. Sam still had a chance! Bucky just couldn’t blow his cover- under the pretense Bucky was watching them in fascination and not understanding, he was safe. 

The blonde pouted, the second cutest thing Bucky had seen in his lifetime- the first being the dorky grin from earlier. The woman seemed unbothered by the this act and signed:

_ He’s attractive though. _

Which wiped the pout straight off the blonde’s face. Bucky noticed the blonde’s cheeks slightly tint, and the redhead smiled with the same sinister curl. The man signed back:

_ You don’t have to tell me. I would let him punch me in the face. Either hand. _

Eh, Sam did have pretty nice arms, Bucky figured. It wasn’t like the blonde didn’t  _ not  _ see Bucky’s left arm, short sleeve shirt leaving it on display. Being self-conscious over it all was a hit and miss most days, and today was hitting him hard. He cursed at himself, then mentally at the man downing his second large black coffee.

On the bright side, at least him and Sam could poke fun at it together when they started dating. Bucky wouldn’t mind. Or, he  _ wanted _ to not mind, and it’s the thought that counts, right? 

“Buck?”

Bucky whipped around to see Sam, wearing the smirk that was default by this point. It was the look he wore before saying something idiotic, so Bucky knew the face well. He mentally braced himself for the incoming comment. 

“Thought I was going to have to spray you with water or something. Didn’t your mother teach you staring is rude,” Sam leaned past Bucky to motion towards the pair. Bucky set his jaw. 

Sam continued, “I don’t blame you though. I always wanted to learn the language, but the army and life happened.” 

Bucky grunted in agreement. The time to tell Sam would come in due time. 

The door leading to the back nudged open. Sam and Bucky leaped from their places to faux clean; Sam at the display case and Bucky at the coffee grinder. When the person at the door revealed himself to be Steve and not Tony, the supervisor’s supervisor, both boys relaxed. 

“Everything good out here?” Steve asked, moving the reading glasses from his nose to his apron pocket. Without the glasses, Steve looked five years younger. 

“On standby,” Sam responded. Steve nodded curtly, eyes glancing over the store. 

“Is-Is that a dog?” 

Steve stepped closer to the edge of the counter to get a better look at the golden retriever. Sam and Bucky frantically locked eyes behind Steve. 

“We allow service animals, right?” Sam spoke while Bucky pleaded simultaneously, “Don’t kick out a poor dog.”

The customers must have felt three pairs of eyes on them because both looked in their direction. Bucky felt his face heat up again. Steve flashed them one of his signature smiles and turned to look at his coworkers. 

“I’m not going to kick out a dog, who do you take me for,” Steve retorted, clapping Bucky’s shoulder. He did a once-over of the rest of the shop before heading towards the back room for what, Bucky assumed, was more paperwork. Steve paused at the door frame though, looking back the the two men and sliding his reading glasses back on. 

“If one of you want to take your break, you should know before we get the lunch rush.” 

Sam had his apron in hand before Steve finished speaking. 

“It’s all yours, Barnes.” 

Bucky craned his neck to watch Sam flop face first onto the break couch, meeting eyes with Steve again. Steve cleared his throat. 

“I’m off to do more paperwork, unless...” Steve trailed off. Bucky hesitated, but knew deep down this was a bridge he had to cross. He could deal with the possibility of rude customers if it meant a higher chance of the blonde coming up to ask about Sam. 

“Go, punk.” Bucky turned his back to Steve, throwing over his shoulder, “Don’t you have papers to file?”

Bucky heard Steve’s “Okay, okay, okay” and softening footsteps leading to a shut door. He cleared his throat, popping his neck for the second time that day. Bucky could look friendly. Or, at least friendly enough to not scare the blonde away. He turned towards the table only to have his stomach bottom out. 

Their chairs were empty, the ceramic bowl that was once on the floor back on the tray. 

Bucky allowed himself to grimace- no one was around to judge him for it anyways. He stalked to the table to clear the tray, keeping his mind occupied so he didn’t think too hard on the missed opportunity. He rinsed out the bowl and felt the fog creep back in. 


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky begins to lose hope. Clint considers getting new friends. Steve is oblivious. Nat isn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! i promise i didnt abandon this fic, i had to post a few days later than friday because something happened thursday night that led me to not be able to edit the chapter until last night. sorry about the wait, chapter three will be out friday! and will likely be the last installment. 
> 
> thank you so much for the kind comments!! they do mean a lot and really do keep me going. hope you enjoy!

The blonde didn’t come back for another week.

And maybe that wasn’t necessarily true, Bucky could’ve easily slipped through the cracks of the schedule and not been there at the right time, he reminded himself. Bucky saw every face that came into Cosmic Coffee and heard every drink that was ordered. None of the customers carried the dorky grin or sporadic blonde hair he caught himself searching for. 

Not that he particularly cared, Bucky also reminded himself. The knot in the bottom of his gut was the disappointment for Sam, the guy with two normal, human arms and the guy the blonde clearly took interest in. 

The newfound alertness Bucky found for his job carried him through the rest of the week, his typical fog acting more of a haze, a development he wasn’t going to complain about. Sparks of hope fired whenever an order for an iced Americano or several black coffees was passed to him, only to be extinguished when they proved no dice. His sharp eye fell to exhaustion by the time Monday rolled around, accepting the defeat that he would never see them again. 

It was hard to ignore the disappointment that filled him after that realization. 

“Buck?”

“Hm?” 

Bucky glanced over his oatmeal to his roommate, Steve, who was standing on the other side of the breakfast bar, and by his expression seemed to have been stood there for a while. Bucky made the mental note to ask Sam about becoming more alert. 

Steve shifted his weight from foot to foot, wringing his hands with a precision Bucky couldn’t help but furrow his eyebrows at. Steve opened his mouth but the words seemed to be stuck in his esophagus, his weight shifting to the left. Bucky scooped the last bite of oatmeal into his mouth, waiting for his friend to speak. 

“I know today’s your day off, and you never work Tuesdays, but Sam is sick and I was on call but I have that expenses meeting with Tony-” 

Bucky hmpfed smugly at the mention of their boss. Steve’s eyes widened, his weight going back to the right, and his words picked up their speed. 

“I wanted to ask if you wouldn’t mind going in for me. I’d owe you one. It’s five to close. Please consider it.” 

Steve’s weight finally landed in the center, his stance more certain now that his words were out in the open. Bucky bit back a grin- he would’ve taken the shift regardless of the date, hours are hours, but Nervous Steve was a rare version of the man in front of him and Bucky wanted to remember their encounter. 

“Let me look,” Bucky sighed melodramatically, pulling out his phone to ‘check’ his calendar. Steve broke into one of his signature smiles that made it seem like Bucky just agreed to give Steve his kidney and, damn, Bucky had his weak spots. Bucky pressed random buttons on his phone before concluding, 

“I can take it. Wouldn’t want you to miss your hot date tonight.” 

The borderline cartoonish look of betrayal from Steve made the whole charade and extra shift worth it. His casual facade was forgotten to narrowed eyes and distraught eyebrows, his mouth caught like he wanted to fire something back but didn’t know what. 

He stood that way the entire time it took Bucky to walk over to the sink, wash his bowl and spoon, and set them carefully on the drying rack. Bucky turned from the rack to see Steve still frozen in place. He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. Bucky turned to walk down the hallway to his room, clapping Steve’s back on the way and adding,

“Ease up, punk. I think you can do better than him, personally, but-” 

“It’s not a date!” 

Steve finally pushed out the words when Bucky’s was at his room, door half open. He turned so Steve could see his complacent expression, entering the room backward. 

“Whatever you have to say to yourself,” Bucky mused, closing the door slowly to leave Steve time to shout something back. He paused a few seconds more, waiting to hear Steve’s reaction, and when there was none, he clicked his door shut. He spun to face his bedroom and trudged towards his chair, a black recliner he bought at the same yard sale as the break room couch. The reclining function seemed lost to time, but it was comfortable, so Bucky found himself taking most of his naps there. It was easily the most decorative piece in his minimalistic bedroom.

His days off always started a bit late than typical. He didn’t have class on Tuesday’s until 10 a.m., which meant he could sleep in. Due to an almost all-nighter working on an English essay, he slept a bit too long, and almost missed his classes entirely thanks to New York traffic. He rushed out the door minutes after he realized the time, which left his usual morning oatmeal to have to be eaten after class. He collapsed on the recliner and set an alarm on his phone for 1 p.m., knowing a nap was needed to complete the day. He dozed off in minutes. 

—

Clint rubbed the back of his hearing aids aimlessly. He contemplated turning them off entirely, or tossing them out the car window, or however else he could gently but completely ruin them in order to get out of his current situation.

Nat was in the driver’s seat, which meant the car was going at a speed somewhere between terrifying and dangerous. The stereo that was once loudly droning about the forecast (Clint was only half listening, but he heard the speculation of snow, which was all he cared about) was turned to a low hum by her, standard protocol for “I have something to say and you’re most likely going to hate it.” Clint braced himself for every variation of comment she could say, letting his hands fall limp on his lap. 

“I know-”

“Oh my god.” Clint placed the pieces together before Nat could spit out the third word. 

The slight tilt of her head and the hardened grip on the wheel gave her statement away entirely before she could finish her sentence. Clint could pick up on the minimal cues to place the pieces together (he always attributed it to being a great friend, but they both knew it was more of a deaf thing than a friendship thing). Nat quirked her lips into a closed smile and at the next stoplight, she turned to face him fully.

“Clint-” Upon hearing his name, Clint dramatically yanked his hands towards his ears, gripping his aids in a silent threat. Nat didn’t take the bait. She continued, cooly, 

“I thought you enjoyed getting coffee with me.”

Clint almost groaned- he should’ve known Nat would go as low as the self-deprecation card. She always did when he tried to get out of things. He slowly moved his hands away from his ears, hearing aids unharmed, thinking of his next play. 

“Do you think gay guys hit on every hot guy they encounter?”

Nat’s next response was hot on his heels. It seemed anticipated and Clint worried for a moment he was becoming too predictable. 

“Nope, just the bisexual ones.”

He hit her side jokingly at the comment and Nat let out a laugh. Before Clint could speak, the light turned green and they both lurched forward. 

The playing ground was even and Clint was too tired to bite a retort back. After the bisexual card was pulled, which usually did when the two of them stood off, there was nothing else that could be used. He sighed.

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” Clint asked. Nat smiled.

“You’ll thank me later for it,” Nat surmised, turning on her blinker the second she started to pull into a parking lot. The “Cosmic Cafe” glared almost mockingly at Clint as the two shrugged their jackets back on. 

Compliance didn’t mean he had to play nice, Clint thought bitterly. He reached up for his hearing aids while Nat sifted through her purse, removing the batteries from both as nonchalantly as possible. Nat’s eyes snapped to the motion of him slipping them into his jacket pocket, a slightly out of tune whistle escaping his lips, his eyes turning towards the window. His knew his cover was blown the moment Nat’s hand hesitated in her purse. That didn’t stop him from hoping she’d play along for once. 

But this was Natasha Romanoff, certified badass and one of the top five most stubborn people in the world. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to face her. She signed and spoke simultaneously:

“Nooooo. You’re doing the talking today.”

“But- I- I can’t hear,” Clint pleaded, his speech slightly slurred. He didn’t bother signing as he spoke, knowing Nat could decipher his deaf, broken speech. He spent most of his time with the batteries out, since he stayed home most days, so the silence was nothing unusual for him. He knew that if he pushed a liiiittle further, Nat would let him be, but-

A small part of him wanted Nat to fight back, to give him an excuse in case the entire thing blew up in his face. 

“Clint.” 

He always needed a push to be able to talk to pretty boys, anyways. 

Nat’s stern look was the push he needed. It was a halfway point between menacing and caring and proved to be enough for Clint to begrudgingly pull the batteries out of his pocket. He came back into the world of hearing with a low beep from each aid, turning to the redhead once both did so, asking, 

“What do I even say?” 

They both stepped out of the car and into the crisp November air. Clint huddled deeper into his coat, tugging his beanie over his ears. 

“One Medium Iced Americano and two large black coffees,” Nat explained so matter-of-factly Clint felt childish for asking. “Or I can go first, and you can order after me. I’ll pay for your drinks for being so brave.”

Clint was known to be a lot of things- stubborn, sure. Sarcastic? Any day. Hardworking? Depended on who you asked, but usually. Willing to do anything for free coffee? It was an offer he literally could not refuse.

“Fine.”

Nat smiled, fiddling with her keys until the car beeped. She turned to look at Clint, musing, 

“Fine?”

“I might get three large black coffees though,” Clint shot back, feeling his aids to ensure the batteries were secure. He didn’t want his own dumbassery to mess up his first (and most likely, only) shot of talking to Hot Barista Bucky. It was now or never.

“I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

Nat opened the door and Clint entered behind her.

—

It wasn’t that Bucky hated cold, per say, but it was situations like his current one that he cursed himself for not moving in with his sister in Los Angelos. His intentions of waking up at 1 p.m. and having plenty of time to work and leave the house were thrown in the trash when he woke up to his alarm clock blinking 4:15 p.m. After almost snapping his phone in realization, Bucky rushed out of the apartment-

And straight into rush hour traffic. His car was at a standstill two blocks past his apartment complex, police lights ahead indicating a car crash that would make Bucky even later. New Yorkers already drove unafraid of death, but the thin layer of ice covering the roads made the metaphor more of a reality than Bucky felt comfortable thinking about. Thanks, government. 

He didn’t mind the cold, but it was moments like these he regretted not getting the heating unit in his car fixed or the extra layer Steve suggested he wear but Bucky refused. Staring at the stopped car in front of him, Bucky felt his mind slip into the fog and he didn’t feel bothered to fight back. 

The time on the dashboard quickly climbed with little movement outside. At 4:45, he phoned the shift supervisor, Carol. The usual nerve-wracking undertone that followed any phone call was melted away when Carol only sounded relieved that extra help was coming. 

The clock went from 4:45, to 5, to 5:25, whenever Bucky cleared the wreck and could drive at a slightly faster rate to Cosmic Coffee. He pulled into the parking lot almost thirty-five minutes late to his shift, and he hurried into the backroom to punch his timecard. A row of perfect 7 a.m. and 12 p.m. times were ruined by the ghastly 5:34:12 PM. If he wasn’t preoccupied throwing an apron on, Bucky would have stopped for a moment of silence. 

“Bucky Barnes, you’re here,” Carol exclaimed, the commotion of Bucky rushing in the back drawing her to investigate. Carol Danvers, a previous Air Force pilot, was known for her cold demeanor and comebacks, which made her a perfect storm for a supervisor. The cold outside seemed to warm up her expression though, as she smiled at Bucky for the first time (ever, Bucky thinks). 

“That I am,” Bucky agreed, walking past her. As he walked into the front room, everything was shadowed by the long line of people opposite the counter. Businessmen and teenagers alike were impatiently tapping their feet or checking their phones as Stephen, the barista taking orders, tired to slowly weed through them. Stephen turned to acknowledge Bucky quickly, gesturing to the orders list, before turning back to talk to another customer. 

Stephen’s hands slightly shook as he pressed them harshly on the keys of the register. Not being one to pry, Bucky never asked, but Sam explained after he caught Bucky looking for too long. His information was minimal, as Stephen never one to talk about his personal life anyway, but Sam explained Stephen was in the Med Corps before being honorably discharged and working at Cosmic Coffee. 

The fleeting thought redirected Bucky’s attention towards his prosthetic, hidden under a long sleeve shirt. He tugged the edge of the sleeve to make sure it was covering as much as possible. The list of coffee orders stacking up was placed on the counter to the right of Stephen. Bucky walked up to the stack and shifted through the next up; salted caramel macchiato, blended mocha, chai latte, iced americano, three black coffees- 

Bucky reread the receipt to make sure he read the last order correctly. He slowly lifted his head to glance around the shop, eyes widening as he saw a blonde and redhead sitting in a booth. They sat at an angle where Bucky couldn’t see any of their signs. He considered pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t still passed out on his recliner at home, but Bucky knew his dreams wouldn’t be this kind to him. 

He rushed through drinks and delivered them in record time. A heat rose through his face as he got closer to the order he was anxious for, but he chalked up the fever to the heat of the building finally circulating through him. Bucky didn’t stray too close to the booth while delivering the drinks prior, not wanting to mess up his second impression before he even got to make it. 

His human hand shook as he poured coffee into three large cups. Bucky took the opportunity to admit to himself that maybe, possibly he carried some feelings for the blonde still. He was only human, he justified. 

Once all four drinks were on a tray and in Bucky’s hands, he steadied his breath as he walked over to the couple. Both people at the booth watched quietly as he placed the tray down, Bucky flashing his standard closed-lip smile to the two. He didn’t see them sign to each other a single time, and Bucky hoped it wasn’t because they thought Bucky was scrutinizing them last week. 

“Thanks,” the redhead said, reaching for the iced Americano. The blonde made eye contact with Bucky and grinned back, a smile so genuine Bucky couldn’t help but burst out into a wide smile.

Bucky was completely caught off whenever the blonde started speaking. It was short, a simple “thank you”, but his voice was deep but chipper and ten thousand other adjectives Bucky tried to imprint into his brain so he didn’t forget. 

Bucky didn’t break eye contact until he saw the blonde’s grin falter. He didn’t realize that the other man was waiting for him to say something back. Bucky took a step back and muttered, 

“No problem.” 

On his walk back to the counter, Bucky determined he didn’t deserve to date anyone ever after the pathetic, awkward encounter he just created. He considered switching jobs, customer service suddenly having too many negative sides to justify the possibility of running into the blonde again. Maybe the VA was hiring. 

He felt his mind continue down this path as he began back making orders, the line of customers only growing. Bucky allowed himself to climb back into the “fog”, time forgot as drink after drink was created and delivered out. 

He only snapped back when the power cut out. 

He was punching an order into the espresso machine when the hum of machines cut, the lights following a split second after. Bucky was on the ground as soon as he realized the drink machine shut down, his mind far away from the coffee shop as he mulled over exit routes, vantage points, possible suspects, survival rates. His heart rate quickened as he began sweating, feeling the desert sun on his back and the smell of gunpowder. His mind rushed into regrets of not writing his mother more or leaving when Steve was deported or oh, god, why couldn’t he see- 

He didn’t register whenever the emergency lights blinked into existence, only that he could now see his coworker also crouching on the ground, hands like an empty vase during an earthquake. 

“Folks,” Carol sounded miles away. “It seems the weather has cut the power for the entire block. Please leave as soon as possible, and if you didn’t get your drink, come to see me for a refund.” 

Bucky heard rustling and some complaints above him, but he didn’t bother with them. The noises seemed to be dying down, but he still felt like he wasn’t there. A voice to his right jolted him into reality. 

“Hey, hey, I’m here with you. It may feel real right now but you’re not there. Just breathe.” 

Stephen was on his knees beside Bucky, fiddling with his own hands to calm them down. Bucky slowly began to take larger breaths. 

“There you are. I’m here. Carol’s here. Can you tell me where you are?” 

Bucky blinked his eyes a few more times as the view of the coffee shop began to fill out in front of him. The cold air knocked the air out of him, and he decided at that moment he would never complain about the cold again. 

“I’m- on a coffee shop floor.” Stephen chuckled slightly at that, and Bucky felt his own shoulder relax. “Below the espresso machine.” 

“Yeah, and- and across from the sink. To the left of the coffee cups.” 

Bucky felt his weight come to him moments later. Finally feeling back, Bucky began to muster some kind of apology for his actions. Stephen realized the look from him and waved it off. 

“When the lights cut I thought I was in a Med Truck with my arm halfway inside a soldier’s chest. No need to apologize.” 

Bucky cocked his head. He never thought to go to a doctor about his sudden and unexplained flashbacks, but Stephen’s explicit statement of his own made Bucky reconsider. Stephen reached his hand out to Bucky, a silent off to help him up. Bucky took it. 

“Boys, you go ahead and go, I’ll lock up,” Carol called out from the front of house, pulling chairs on top of tables. Bucky felt too exhausted to argue and chorused his thanks after Stephen, leaving a few moments after his coworker. 

Bucky was in a haste to get into work on time, and his distant parking spot was evidence of it. On his trek, a man in a thick jacket and purple beanie stopped him in his tracks. Bucky was too tired to tell the man to fuck off, he whipped around to glare at the pour soul whenever beanie guy put his arms up. 

“Woah, I didn’t mean to startle you. Do you know how to jump a car by any chance?” 

Bucky didn’t know what he was more surprised about: the fact that a grown man didn’t know how to jump a car, or that his voice sounded vaguely familiar. It was deep, slightly chipper in tone, and… ten thousand other adjectives Bucky thought of earlier. He almost couldn’t believe it was the same blonde talking to him, whenever purple beanie pulled a sheepish grin, and Bucky nodded to his question. 

The smile grew from the other man and Bucky found himself following behind the blonde to a beaten up car. The redhead from earlier had half of her body inside the car, turning the keys with growing frustration. She slammed one fist on the dashboard before turning to the two men standing beside her.

“Clint, I told you I could get the car started,” She turned the keys again. The engine sputtered but refused to turn on. She spat out after, “I just need two more minutes.” 

“You said that ten minutes ago. I brought in backup,” The blonde, Clint, responded. 

“And give Bertie the satisfaction? I don’t think so,” The redhead retorted. 

“Bertie is the car, for context,” The blonde rambled, turning to Bucky. “Oh, and I’m Clint. Clint Barton. I should’ve started out with that. That’s-” 

Clint was cut off by an agitated groan from the redhead, who seemed to fiddle with the steering wheel. The hood popped open.

“That’s the most stubborn person on the planet,” Clint said, still staring at Bucky but his voice rising in volume. 

“That’s a compliment coming from you,” The redhead shot back, turning to look at Bucky for the first time since he walked over. “I’m Nat.” 

“Nice to meet you both. I’m Bucky. I can bring my car around if that works for you two.” 

Clint and Nat locked eyes in a silent conversation as Bucky realized they were probably regretting enlisting in his help. They knew his name from the last time they came in and judged his anxious conversation this time. Bucky was ready for one of them to politely ask for him to leave, whenever Nat looked back at Bucky. 

“That’d be great, Clint can go with you.” 

Clint’s eyes widening didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky, and he realized that Nat was pushing he friend to ask about Sam. Bucky shrugged, motioning with his head for Clint to follow as he began to walk to the other side of the lot to his car. Clint was the first of the two to speak. 

“Thank you for doing this, Nat may be talented but Frankensteining a car might be the limit,” Clint rambled, matching his stride with Bucky’s since he was a few inches taller. Bucky pretended to not take notice. 

“No problem,” Bucky replied. He didn’t mean for the same expression to slip out, but after it did he considered moving out of the country. Fate granted him a third impression and he was already failing. 

Bucky tried to pick up the pieces. 

“Where’s your dog? I mean, the one you guys had last week. I only remembered because the bowl, I promise-” 

Bucky was stopped by Clint’s laughter. He decided that he hadn’t ruined his chances after all. 

“Lucky? She’s at home, didn’t want to brave the weather, poor dog,” Clint explained. They reached Bucky’s car and Bucky fiddled with his keys. The two entered and Bucky roared the engine to life. 

“Lucky?” 

“Yeah, I didn’t choose the name, trust me. I didn’t really mean to adopt her either, it was just one of those moments, you know?” 

Bucky quirked his eyebrow. The blonde seemed to carry as much nervous energy as he did. 

“Don’t think I do,” Bucky replied, pulling in next to Nat’s car. She was sat in the driver’s seat, door closed. Bucky shut off his car and went to his trunk to find his jumper cables, Clint following after him. 

“It’s kind of a long story,” Clint offered, reaching his hand out for one of the cables. Bucky saw his extended hand and hesitated before realizing what he was asking for. They both began to attach the cables. 

“Sounds like a good one.” 

Both boys attached their cables and Bucky moved to turn his car back on again. After his engine started, both boys made eye contact. Bucky held his breath. 

“I could tell it to you, over coffee, or drinks. As a thank you for reviving Bertie.” 

Clint’s face seemed rosy, and Bucky wasn’t sure if it was due to the weather or if he was as nervous as he himself felt. Bucky’s body went on autopilot, and he felt himself nodding his head before he could think of an excuse to not. 

“That sounds great.” 

The blonde broke out into another dorky grin. Nat’s car roared into life, breaking the two out of their conversation. Nat remained in the car, appearing to be on the phone with somebody, so Bucky figured they had a few more minutes. He began to unclip the cables from the car. While putting them away, Clint shut Bucky’s and Nat’s car roofs. Bucky and Clint stopped in front of each other in front of Bucky’s car, both minds turning but neither knowing what to say. Clint was the first to speak. 

“Can I have your number? To figure out date details, and all.” 

Bucky took out his phone before the blonde finished his statement. The two exchanged numbers, and with a timid wave from Clint in the passenger seat, Bucky watched the other car jerk out of the parking lot and speed down the road. He couldn’t help the smile across his face as he went back into his car and began back home.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! this started as a warm-up before working my other winterhawk fic (which is still in the works) but it was too cute of an idea to not post. 
> 
> as with most authors, kudos/comments are my lifeblood and keep me going. any/all constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!! i want to make this as great as possible. 
> 
> will have about 3-4 chapters in total! will be updated every friday at the latest.


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